Make My Wish Come True
by starbuckmeggie
Summary: All I want for Christmas is you. A little holiday sapfest for all you dreamers out there.


While all of my stories, minus the AU ones, more or less tie in together and could (and sort of do) live in the same universe, this is the first one I've written that I feel isn't entirely stand alone. I'm sure you're not missing much if you haven't read Thankful—I mean, this story isn't that complicated—but there are actually some direct references in this one. There are also a couple of indirect references to another story I've yet to type up, which is my attempt at a post-vacation story. I'll get to it one of these days.

* * *

"Are you absolutely sure this is how you want to spend Christmas?"

I chuckle at the concerned look on Josh's face, scooting over on the couch as he makes his way over to me, glass of wine in each hand. "Considering it's Christmas eve, it's a little late even if this wasn't what I wanted, wouldn't you say? Thank you," I say, taking my glass from him.

He sits down next to me, arm automatically sliding around my shoulders, and we clink our glasses together before taking a sip. "You know that I'd find you a flight to Madison if that's what you wanted, don't you? I'd even find one for me, too, if you wanted me with you."

"Josh, I don't want to go to Wisconsin for Christmas, same as I don't want my parents here this year."

"But you liked having them here last year, right?" he asks, looking vaguely distressed.

"Of course I did. You know that. It was the most amazing surprise ever, but…I want to spend the holiday with just you."

"But—"

"It can't be that hard to believe."

"Okay, but it's kind of a big holiday for you people. I don't want you to regret not spending it with your family."

"Honey," I say, using a term of endearment that's only just starting to feel natural. "You _are_ my family." I swallow heavily, knowing it's kind of a bold statement for the both of us.

He tightens his arm around my shoulders and he presses a kiss to my temple. "You're my family, too," he whispers.

I put my wine glass down on the end table and sigh, wrapping both arms around him. We'd barely been together a month last year when we had his mom out here for the last few days of Hanukkah, and then he surprised me by flying my parents in for Christmas, the two holidays almost overlapping and our parents finally meeting for the first time for barely a day. It was hectic and overwhelming and completely wonderful, but this year…I wanted it low key, especially after spending Thanksgiving in Wisconsin just a month ago. All I want is to be curled up with Josh for the next twenty-four hours.

"Thank you for spending the holiday with me," I mumble into his neck, smiling when he tightens his grip on me.

"Hey, thanks for wanting me to be a part of it. I mean, there are probably a bunch of things I'm not gonna get, but there's nowhere else I'd rather be."

I sit up then, tilting back a little to look at him skeptically. "Are you really that sheltered from Christmas?"

"In more ways than you'd expect, I think. I grew up around it a bit when I was a kid—I think most kids do, at least in school—but I never paid much attention to it, especially because around the age when I probably would have been getting into it, it hadn't been that long since…you know…Joanie…"

I squeeze his arm, leaning my head against his shoulder. "I hadn't thought about that."

"Anyway, the holidays weren't a big deal in college, and I usually got to spend Hanukkah with my family, and after all that…well, when you're single, you don't really give it a lot of thought, I guess. Even Hanukkah—I mean, it's an important holiday, don't get me wrong, but we tend to put a lot of emphasis on it for kids more than anything else, so they don't feel left out with presents and things." He chuckles a little, taking a sip of his wine. "I'm a terrible Jew."

I shrug, grabbing my glass off the table. "You guided me through Hanukkah quite nicely this year," I reassure him.

"Well, I guess some of it's too deeply ingrained to every really forget." His fingers run through my hair, and I'm positive it wouldn't take more than a few minutes of that to put me to sleep. "So, what sort of usual Christmas eve—day—whatever traditions do you have?"

I force myself out of my stupor, propping my chin on his shoulder. "I was kind of hoping we could start traditions of our own."

"Such as?"

I sigh and nod my head toward the mantel over the fireplace. "Like that, for starters."

"The menorah?"

"Yeah, flanked by stockings. I like the combination of things that are you and things that are me."

"I like that, too," he answers, turning his head to give me a quick kiss. "Though, to be fair, that menorah in particular is designed to be a guilt trip from Alice Lyman."

I laugh a little, shifting so I'm sitting more comfortably beside him. His mother sent that a few weeks ago after Josh broke the news that we wanted to have the holidays to ourselves. She tried to convince him that she could just come into town for the last few days of the holiday again, but Josh told her it'd get back to my parents that we'd had her here after we'd told them no for Christmas and they'd be crushed. Truthfully, her affection for my family might be the only thing that kept her from buying a ticket. The menorah arrived a few days after all that with what I thought was a lovely note wishing us a happy holiday season and telling us that she loved us and understood our need to spend time together. Josh reassured me that the note wasn't so innocent, that it was in fact full of tiny digs that were supposed to weaken our resolve and let her come visit. He told me I was too gentile to get it, and I'd be offended, but he might be right.

"I think she appreciated that we Skyped lighting the candles with her, though," I tell him, taking a sip of wine. "And it really is a lovely menorah."

"It is," he agrees, chuckling a moment later. "And it was a nice touch with her engraving our names on it. Mom doesn't do subtle."

I chuckle with him—she did indeed have our names put on the thing. No last names—or even just Lyman to be really blatant—and it would have been impossible to _not_ catch the hints she was throwing.

"Okay, so, combination of holidays. What else? Is your tiny tree going to be a thing?"

"The tree is _not_ tiny."

"It's not big."

"Do you remember last year's tree?"

"Vaguely."

"Do you remember what a pain in the ass it was to get it in here and then get it out?"

He sighs, making a face, and I only blame him for this one. Not that it wasn't absolutely amazing that he managed to surprise me with my parents for Christmas, but they arrived on the twenty-third and I was in no way expecting them, which meant I had zero time to get anything ready for the actual day of. Fortunately, it was a Saturday so I didn't have to deal with work in between, but I was hard-pressed to find a tree that late in the game and it was either going to be a shrub or something ostentatious. Then I had to try to find lights and decorations, both of which I still had in storage at my old building at that point but it was easier and faster to find new stuff. It was absolute madness for a few days as we crammed Josh's mom and my parents, not to mention Josh and myself in the apartment, trying to find space for everyone to sleep—and the awkwardness of my parents knowing I was sleeping in the same bed as my boyfriend—but we made it work. We got the tree in and decorated in time for the last night of Hanukkah, which the five of us celebrated together. The tree itself, though, was nearly too big for the apartment, and took up more than corner I'd anticipated. Finding someone to haul it away when it was all over—not to mention the absolute struggle just to get it out the door—seriously made me consider Charlie Brown trees from then on.

The tree this year barely comes up to my shoulders. It's not tiny, though it looks that way compared to the last one. I like it, though. It stands in the corner between the windows, little white lights twinkling merrily. We only have a few gifts scattered under it, but that's because we promised each other to keep the gift exchange to a minimum. Not surprisingly, a box arrived a few days ago with gifts from my family, and Josh has been eyeing them like an anxious kid ever since.

"Okay, so small tree it is," he says. "What about food? I didn't notice that you brought home a bunch of…cranberries. Or a goose. Isn't that what they ate in Christmas Carol?"

"Cranberries and a goose?" I ask, shaking my head. I'm not sure if he's being purposely dense or stereotypically oblivious. "Have you ever actually eaten a goose?"

"Why the hell would I ever have eaten a goose?"

"Then why would you expect to start now?"

"Well, what did we eat last year?"

"Everything. I think we actually ate everything. But we only had all that food because my mom was here and she's been doing a massive Christmas dinner for years. I couldn't have done that on my own, nor would I want to. I do have stuff for a moderately traditional dinner for tomorrow, if we feel like it. It does consist of more than just cranberries, which should be reassuring."

"I think you're underestimating how much I like cranberries."

I elbow his ribs and he yelps, holding out his wine glass as the liquid sloshes precariously. "So, what do you usually eat on Christmas?"

"The very traditional meal of Chinese takeout."

"Traditional, huh?"

"Amongst my people, absolutely."

"I think that's a tradition I can get behind."

"What else?"

"What _else_?"

"What other traditions do you have in mind?"

"Josh, you can't really plan traditions. You just sort of have to…do things and see what sticks from year to year."

"Oh, so that's how they work."

"Don't be a smart ass." I elbow him again, harder this time, and he makes a face, ducking away from me for a second.

"Well, then, is there anything in particular you want to do? Whether it forms a tradition or not? Personally, I vote for sex under the Christmas tree."

He would. "Might I remind you what it's like to have sex on the floor?"

"Yeah, it's awesome," he answers, a grin splitting his face.

"Really? 'Cause I remember you bitching about your back for almost a week last time."

"Wow. Here I am trying to offer thoughtful ideas for how we can spend our Christmas and you're being all Donna Downer." I can't help but snicker a little at that. "Besides, there are other ways we could do it that might be less strenuous on my back."

"Yeah, but last time we did it that way out here, I got rug burn on my knees," I answer, pouting my lips a little. I hold out my hands to him. "And my palms."

"Aww, poor baby," he says, grabbing my wrists and bringing my palms to his mouth. I know the sympathy is genuine, but the look in his eyes is positively predatory. "Sorry about that." His lips move gently over my palms, sending shivers down my spine.

"And, you know," I say, my voice a lot lower than normal before I clear my throat. "It never works out so great when we try to _plan_ sex. It's much better when it's spontaneous." Sad but true. Any time we try to make sure that sex is on the agenda for us, one of us winds up with the flu or food poisoning or being sent on a last minute trip for work. It's always better to just jump on each other when the mood hits.

He wraps his arms around my waist, hauling me onto his lap. He smiles at me gently before cupping the back of my head, pulling me down to him. I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing myself closer to him. This is a potential tradition that has some merit.

"Josh," I whisper against his lips, jumping as his cool fingertips slide under my sweater.

"What's up?" he asks, his lips moving to my neck.

"While I appreciate the sentiment—and believe me, I do appreciate it—if we have sex now, we're going to be useless for the rest of the night."

He pulls back, looking at me in mild confusion. "What's wrong with that?"

"We don't have a lot of nights together where we can just hang out. I want to spend a little bit of time with you before we lounge around all night in a euphoric haze."

I'm always apprehensive about making requests like that; not because I think he'll say no or even hate just spending time with me, but I don't want to wind up being _that_ girlfriend—the one who's a shrew and never wants to sleep with her boyfriend and always turns him down for sex, that sort of person. I love spending any time I can with Josh, but there's no doubt that if we get naked now, we'll both be asleep by eight. While it's probably sleep we need, I just want to be around him a little bit more.

He sighs a little but smiles at me, pulling me in for another kiss. " _Or_ , we could make love all night. You know, take our time with it."

I melt into him a little bit, my insides turning to goo. He drives a hard bargain. "You really think you can last all night, stud?" I mumble into his mouth, unable to bite back my grin.

He pulls back from me, giving me a dirty look. It only lasts for a moment before he gives me a self-deprecating grin. "I see my reputation precedes me."

I give him another kiss before sliding off his lap. "If you have some sort of marathon in mind, I'm going to need sustenance."

He leans into me, putting his head next to mine on the couch cushion. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks at me affectionately. "So, Chinese food?"

"Yeah."

"Anything special you want?"

"No, just the usual."

He shakes his head, pushing himself off the couch. "That doesn't mean you eat half of whatever I get because you suddenly decide you want that instead of what you ordered."

"Sure it does."

"Donna!"

I lean my head over the back of the couch, looking at him upside down. "Sharing is caring. What's yours is mine and all that."

"If you want something, just order it. It's not that big a deal."

"How do I know I want it until I see you eating it?" He sighs, looking disgusted. "I love you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he grumbles good-naturedly as he ambles into the kitchen to find the takeout menu. He complains about it, but I know he's used to me taking his food by this point. I did it for years while we worked together so I'm not sure why he thought it'd be any different after we got together. He'd probably think I was mad at him if I _didn't_ steal his food.

I straighten up and take a big sip of wine, trying to compose myself—I chuckle a little when I see my hands are shaking just a little. Even though I've put him off for now, it doesn't mean I'm not incredibly eager for him. Still, we can afford to spend a few hours together eating and enjoying each other's company before we find other ways to enjoy each other.

"You want to watch a movie or something while we eat?"

"What'd you have in mind?" he calls back, his voice distracted, and I'm sure he's trying to place our order and listen to me at the same time.

"There's only about half a million Christmas movies on tonight," I answer, turning on the TV and immediately flipping through the channels.

"And I bet they're all terrible."

"Shows how much you know," I mumble, pausing at each made-for-TV movie I come across, all of them seeming to have the same general plotline and generic looking actors. "Only seventy-five percent of them are terrible. The rest are absolute classics that every human being should watch at some point their lives." Unfortunately, most of the garbage ones seem to be on right now, so I don't know that I'll be able to make a very strong case in my favor.

"What are our options?" Josh asks a few minutes later, walking out to the living room with plates and chopsticks.

"Depends on which end of the spectrum you want. On one end, we have the movies that are absolute trash—the Hallmark channel knock-offs that all feature some surely dude and a ditzy chick who, against all odds, fall in love with each other. These movies can be so bad that they're actually good. You'd probably enjoy mocking them, if your head didn't explode first."

"Hard pass," he answers quickly, disappearing back into the kitchen.

"If you have any patience— _which you don't_!—some of the good ones will be on within the hour."

He reappears with the bottle of wine, topping us both off. "If you know I don't have any patience, why are you even mentioning it?"

"I'm hoping for a miracle. Hanukkah, Christmas, doesn't matter to me."

He laughs and disappears again, and I hear the now empty bottle being tossed into the recycling bin. I'll have to dig it out and wash it at some point, but I've gotten him to the point where he remembers to recycle, and that's the part that matters. "What do you define as a 'good' Christmas movie?"

I shrug, turning to the menu screen so I can watch our options scroll by. "It's a Wonderful Life is always a good one."

"Isn't that a tear-jerker? Do I want to sit here and watch you cry?" He settles next to me on the couch again, his hand resting on my thigh.

"I'd suggest A Christmas Story, but that one will be on all day tomorrow."

"Seriously?"

"Josh, have you _ever_ turned on your TV? I mean, to something other than the news?"

"How is it you manage to make my assets sound like faults?"

I just shake my head. "For years now, since before we ever met, they've shown that movie on a loop from Christmas Eve until late Christmas Day. How have you not noticed that?" He gives me a look and I go back to watching the menu. "Forget I asked."

"What else?"

"I don't know—A Muppet Christmas Carol?" I'm greeted with silence. "Ooh! White Christmas!"

"Musical? Pass."

"Josh!"

"Hey, do you want to sour me on the whole Christmas experience, or what?"

"You are the most infuriating human ever," I grumble under my breath. "Elf? No. Miracle on 34th Street? Yeah, right. Love Actually? Probably only if I actually bribed you with sex—"

"Hey, hey, hey!" he exclaims, reaching out to grab my wrist, obviously honing in on the word "sex." "Let's not be so hasty."

"You'd hate it. It's about people falling in love, and falling out of love, and different types of love, and you're nothing but a grump."

"I'm not a grump."

"You're definitely a grouchy old man. And you wouldn't like the movie, anyway. It's another tear-jerker."

"Are all Christmas movies sappy?"

"Yes. That's kind of the point. They're supposed to be predictable and a little cheesy and try to remind you to appreciate the things you have, or remind you of how much you matter to the world. Most of them aren't about the religious part of the holiday—just the stuff about the caring about each other and being a good person and trying to live life to the fullest."

His eyes soften, a smile curling at his lips. "God, I love you."

"Stop it."

"No, seriously. _You're_ like a Christmas movie, all warmth and love and forgiveness, and it's the cutest thing in the world."

I feel my cheeks heat up, even though I've been called worse. "I feel like I should be a claymation character or something."

"Well, I love you, and I think you're absolutely amazing." He wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me in, kissing me gently. It's been more than a year and I still don't know how to process him being so sweet and adorable to me.

"I think I have a compromise," I whisper against his lips.

"What's that?" he mumbles, shifting closer.

"Not that," I answer with a giggle, ducking my head away from him. "Scrooged comes on in about half an hour."

"Scrooged?"

"You'll like it. Bill Murray in his eighties heyday, cheap laughs, and a little morality tale all rolled into one."

"Sold," he says, kissing my cheek before sitting up. "Food should be here in about forty-five minutes."

"That long?" I ask, my voice bordering on a whine.

"Apparently we're not the only ones celebrating a Jewish Christmas tonight. I tried to use my name to influence them to get here faster, but they threatened to go from forty-five minutes to an hour and a half, so I didn't want to push it."

I grab my wine, taking a sip. I couldn't even say for sure if he's joking or not at this point. I love the guy, but he tends to make a nuisance of himself to just about everyone he comes in contact with. I switch the TV to the right channel and put it on mute, drowning out what looks like the tail-end of some Tim Allen holiday schmaltz.

"Hey, so, isn't it a thing on Christmas Eve to exchange presents?"

"That one you know?"

"Isn't it?"

"Some families do that," I concede. "Usually it's just one a piece and I think it's mostly to appease little kids before they explode with excitement." He nods his head vigorously, grinning broadly. "And I forgot that I live with a little kid. Did you want to open a present now?"

"Oh, hell yes." He nearly bounces off the couch and hurries to the tree, immediately crouching down to look beneath it.

"We don't have a ton of them under there," I remind him even as I join him on the floor. "Don't lose your mind and open everything."

"Are you implying that I have no self-control?"

"I'm not implying anything. I'm flat out saying that it's not your strong suit."

He shimmies a little, looking exactly like a little boy. It makes my heart flutter for a moment and I'm overcome suddenly as this insanely clear picture flashes before my eyes—Josh is still grinning at me, looking more excited than he has any right to, but on the ground in front of him is a tiny little person, barely able to sit up on their own, eyes wide with wonder as they take in the lights of the tree. He can hardly contain himself as he helps our kid unwrap a box—

"Donna, are you okay?"

I let out a shaky breath, my eyes refocusing on Josh's suddenly concerned face. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Too much wine, not enough food. I'm good."

He looks at me uncertainly and I smile reassuringly. I get these flashes from time to time, especially lately. Not that I think they're visions of the future—just some of my hopes and dreams, things about our future together and what it might hold. That might be the first time a baby has made an appearance, though. It's almost unnerving, and harder to shake off than any of the other things I've thought about us doing together in the future. "Seriously—are you all right?" he asks, his hand going to my back, and I smile at him again.

"I'm fine," I promise him, reaching under the tree. I pull out the one I'm most excited to give him, even though what's left tomorrow might be kind of a letdown. "Merry Christmas," I tell him with a grin, passing over the thin, light box.

His entire face lights up, and you'd think we hadn't done the holidays together before. I suppose, though, that even last year wasn't like this. We'd only been together for almost a couple of months, and suddenly we were surrounded by our parents who were beyond thrilled that we were finally at that point. We were sort of living together but not technically, we were still waiting for the new administration to start…everything was insane. I hardly remember Hanukkah or Christmas as it went by in a flurry of work and family activities, with a dash of us still trying to figure out the whole relationship thing. Of course, being on our own for the holidays this time changes the way it feels. It feels good, but I guess it helps to ramp up the excitement of it all.

I watch as he tears into his present, sending the paper flying. If we do wind up having kids at some point, he's going to be the one that teaches them all of their bad habits.

He looks puzzled as he opens the box, pulling out an envelope. "What is this?"

I roll my eyes, letting out my most put-upon sigh. "It's an envelope. I got you an envelope for Christmas. I mean, the first anniversary is supposed to be paper, so I thought this would be appropriate. Happy holidays!"

"You're a real laugh-fest, aren't you?" he asks, his eyes shifting to me for a moment.

"Just open the damn envelope."

He finally does, pulling out several tickets. He stares at them intently, and I watch with amusement as his face goes from confusion, to shock, to elation. "Donna…tell me these are what I think they are."

"Tickets to the Mets opening weekend," I confirm, proud of myself.

"The whole weekend?" he exclaims, examining the tickets again.

"Yeah. I figured one game wouldn't be enough, and if we're going to be up there for what I think it's a Thursday, why not spend the whole weekend there and let you really enjoy yourself?"

"You did this?"

I can't help but grin broadly. I thought he'd like it, but this reaction is better than I hoped for. "Yeah. And I talked to the President and First Lady and made sure, barring any national emergencies, we'd have the time off."

"We?" he asks, finally looking up at me.

"Well, you don't actually have to take me if you don't want. I won't be offended if there's someone you want to go with that might appreciate it more." Truthfully, I might be a little disappointed if he wants to bring someone else with him, but it's his gift, and it really is about him being happy.

He scoffs, putting the tickets back into the box and pushing it off to the side. He leans forward and wraps his arms around me, hugging me tight. "There is absolutely no one else in the world I'd want to share this with."

I bury my face in his neck, hugging him back. "Are you sure?"

"A long weekend in New York with my favorite human watching my favorite team? Sounds like a little slice of heaven."

"I'm glad you like it," I whisper, and his arms tighten in response. One of the best perks of my job as Chief of Staff has been the insane bump in my salary. I make more money a month now than I did in three or four months the first time I worked at the White House. As a result, I have the ability to get things for people that I really want to get them, not things I have to settle for getting them, or worrying about being in debt for half a year after going crazy with gift-giving. I know it's not about spending a lot of money on people, but I like that I have the option to do it now if I find an appropriate gift.

He pulls back a little, kissing me thoroughly. "Thank you," he finally says, his face moving to cup my cheeks. "This is really, really cool."

"I'm glad you like it," I repeat, mentally keeping my fingers crossed that we can actually make the weekend happen.

He finally lets me go, sitting back on his haunches. "Well, I feel like a schmuck now. I don't think I got you anything that can measure up."

"Josh, it's not a competition." He lifts his eyebrow at me in disbelief. "It's not! Whatever you got me is fine as long as it's not something you found in a panic at the last minute."

"Hey, I always put thought into your gifts."

I smile at him, leaning forward to plant a quick kiss on him. "I know you do. That's why I'm not worried, and you shouldn't be either."

He sighs and reaches under the tree, poking around until he pulls out a fancy looking box. "Here."

"No way you wrapped this on your own," I tell him as I turn the gift in my hands, trying to guess what's inside.

He snorts, shaking his head. "I didn't wrap anything on my own. Gotta love how all these places offer to do it for you. I think they really try to push it off on the hopeless looking males."

"Probably," I answer with a laugh, holding up the box. "Sure this is the one?"

"Yeah, just open it."

Unlike Josh, I carefully pull off the ribbon, draping it around his neck. He just sighs, looking impatient. I take a little less care with the wrapping paper, knowing that even with the best of intentions, I'm not actually going to save it and use it again. I open the box, finding a smaller box inside. When I pull it out, I drop it on the floor at the size and shape of it. "Josh…"

His forehead crinkles, looking at me in confusion. "What?"

I point at the box, my finger shaking visibly. "What is that?"

"It's your Christmas present. Why are you looking at it like I'm giving you a vial of the Plague?"

My heart pounds at the sight of the box, my stomach twisting in odd ways, and I've seen enough movies to know what fits in a package that size. We haven't even talked about…this. Not really. Not seriously. Not in any way that's definite other than a generic "we want to be together forever" kind of way. "Is it…are you…"

He looks down at the box again, his head snapping up at me a moment later, his eyes huge. He chuckles as he picks it up, fiddling with it, though I can tell he's unnerved, too. "Relax, Donna. I'm not proposing to you on Christmas Eve."

My body unwinds, and even though I feel relieved, I feel an odd twinge of disappointment way deep down. "Really?"

"Can you imagine anything more cliché?" he asks, looking uncomfortable. "I wouldn't want to do it that way. You deserve better than that."

I laugh a little, still trying to get my breathing under control as I reach for the box. "All right then."

"Good to know where you are with the whole thing, though," he answers sarcastically.

I choose to ignore him, looking down at the tiny box in my hands. I run my fingers over the top of it, noticing for the first time the words engraved in the top. Blue Nile. "Josh, you didn't."

"Would you just open it?"

"Josh, you don't need to do this." He stares at me pointedly until I sigh, opening the lid. I gasp, one of my hands involuntarily covering my mouth at the sight of the diamond earrings staring back at me. "Oh, wow," I breathe.

He scoots over next to me. "I got them to match your necklace."

My hand automatically moves to my neck, resting on the diamond solitaire that's hardly left my person since he gave it to me less than a year ago, on the night of the inauguration. "You didn't have to do that," I whisper.

"I wanted to," he answers just as softly, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

"But they're so expensive," I protest.

"You deserve to be spoiled," he says simply.

"Not like this."

"Absolutely like this. I adore you and I've wanted give you things like this for years. Now I can—it's allowed. There's not another person in the world who—you deserve all the best things in life, Donna. You always have. I just want to try to give you as many of them as I can."

"But…"

"I can't return them."

I look up at him then, my eyes getting watery. "You designed them, didn't you?"

He smiles proudly. "Yep. I saved the design from your necklace in case I needed it again." I turn into him and hug him once more, unable to find words right now."They're not as personal as those Mets tickets—"

"Shut up; they're perfect. Thank you."

He presses a kiss to my neck and I sigh, trying not to cry. One of the things that's been the most surprising about being with Josh this past year is that he really likes to give presents, particularly when they're for no reason. He's a big fan of "I saw this and thought of you," and it's not always something big. Sometimes it's a postcard from some trip he's had to go on, but it'll be of a monument I've always admired, or something kitschy from a souvenir shop on the side of the road, or even something as simple as a flattened penny that has a picture of something near a stop we made on the campaign trail ten years ago. Most surprising so far was last January, as I was rushing around the apartment and putting the finishing touches on my outfit for the inaugural balls, when he told me that the necklace I was wearing didn't go with my dress. Then he handed me a box and told me he thought that would work better—he could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw it. It's a simple necklace, but it's incredibly elegant, and without a doubt the nicest piece of jewelry I've ever owned. It wasn't until after he'd helped me put it on that I noticed where it was from and nearly had an anxiety attack. As a fairly typical female in many ways, I'm familiar with jewelry and places that sell it, and I know that Blue Nile doesn't run cheap. Then he told me he'd designed it just for me—he'd spent hours online going through different cuts and sizes, trying to figure out what to get me, all because he wanted to give me something nice. Hell, the cost of it doesn't matter to me—I wouldn't care if it cost him a dollar—but the fact that he was willing to go through all of that for me means more than anything else.

"You really like them?"

"I love them. But you _have_ to stop spending your money on me like this."

"Like hell," he answers, hugging me tighter.

"No, seriously, Josh. You can't just keep blowing all this money on jewelry for me."

"Donna," he says slowly, pulling back and taking my hands in his. "I've never really spent money on anyone, including myself. You know for a fact that I barely remember to buy the necessities, never mind think to buy extras. I'm the only grandkid on both sides, I've spent the last twenty years of my life doing nothing but working…we're not hurting for money." My eyebrow lifts at that whole "we" thing, but he doesn't seem to notice. "I have a deep, desperate need to give you things and try to show you just how much you mean to me. Jewelry has been what seems to come the closest and for whatever reason, I absolutely love buying it for you. So, you're just going to have to live with it. I love you and I love to do things for you, and I know that it's not about spending a lot of money, and I know that you don't care about owning the most expensive things, but I just…want to. I don't have anything better than that. I just want to give you things. Deal with it."

"I don't want to sound ungrateful—"

"You don't," he says quickly, squeezing my hands. "Like I said, it's an urge I can't seem to control it. I also don't plan to try to control it. So…expect more sparkly things in your future."

I sniffle just a little, a smile pulling at my lips. "You're a ridiculous man, you know that?"

"I'm aware."

I disentangle my hands, placing them on his cheeks as I kiss him. "Thank you," I finally whisper. I pick up the jewelry box, not even remembering dropping it on the floor again, and take a good look at the earrings. They're incredibly gorgeous. I'm not sure if he's gotten really lucky or just has exceptional taste, but the stuff he's designed is absolutely perfect.

"Are we gonna talk about the other thing?" he asks, his soft voice breaking me out of my reverie.

"What other thing?" I ask, tilting the earrings so they catch the light from the tree.

"The thing where you almost had a panic attack when you thought I was going to propose to you."

The box falls out of my hands, bouncing on the floor near my knees. I grab it, making sure both earrings are in place before I close the lid and place it carefully on the coffee table. "I didn't have a panic attack."

"No, you _almost_ did." He pauses, and I can feel his eyes on me as I fiddle with the plates and silverware. "Does the thought of getting married freak you out that much?"

"It doesn't freak _you_ out?" I ask, my tone disbelieving.

"Why would it freak me out?"

"Well, you're _you_ , for starters."

"What? Just because I've never been with a woman I could see myself spending forever with means I'm a commitment-phobe? Doesn't that mean I'm actually incredibly wise because I wasn't willing to settle for something I didn't really want?"

"You can see yourself spending forever with me?"

He groans, exasperated. "Donna…are you serious?"

"Okay. Okay, look, the thought of getting married doesn't freak me out. The thought of getting married to _you_ really doesn't freak me out. Actually, I really like that thought. A lot."

"But…"

"Are you in a rush to get married?" I ask defensively.

"I'm not in a rush."

"Well, neither am I." He looks terribly confused. "I know that, in the past, you've thought I was eager to be settled down and have a family and all that, but my chronic dating really was just a search for someone to spend time with. I _like_ being part of a couple. I like doing couple things, and having someone to go to dinner with , and come home to, and someone I can trust and be myself with. It doesn't happen a lot, but you don't know until you date a lot of losers—that's the only way to find a winner. But just because I've wanted to be part of a couple doesn't mean I'm desperate to get married. I think there's a lot of stuff that happens in a relationship, and I don't want to miss it by suddenly getting married. It took us so long to get here and…I don't want to rush it. I want to enjoy this part. I'm still very okay with skipping over the whole dating part and going right to what we have because we didn't need all that stuff where we get to know each other. But this part…this has all been amazing. If we get engaged, it doesn't get to be about this anymore. It'll be about us answering questions about a wedding, and everyone asking us when we're having kids and when we're buying a house, and then they're suddenly assuming I'll quit my job to be a stay-at-home mom—" His eyes are huge as I ramble on, and I grab his hand, squeezing his fingers. "I'm not exaggerating. I've seen it happen, and I think all of that is completely fine if people are ready for it but…I'm not there."

That's the first time I've really said that out loud. It might be the first time I've really acknowledged it to myself. I'm not ready to be married. It's actually kind of a relief to have it out there.

"I'm not quite there yet, either," he tells me, and my shoulders sag in relief. "But seeing you get so bent out of shape about just the idea of me asking you kind of worries me."'

"Josh, I _promise_ you, it's not the idea of you asking me. It's just the idea in general right now. You—you're the one. You know that, right? I mean, we've sort of talked about this before but…"

"You're the one," he answers, his voice soft.

"Right," I answer, a grin spreading across my face. "And, whether we decide to get married or not, you're where I want to spend forever."

"Well, I'm kind of old-fashioned," he says, his eyes twinkling a little with mischief. "I don't know if I'm comfortable with us shacking up for eternity."

"Noted."

"And…I don't know if this is something would ever even be an issue but, I've kind of imagined me being the one to do the asking."

"You've imagine it, have you?"

He ignores me. "I know it's the twenty-first century, and there are no rules about any of this stuff, and I think it's great but…"

I take pity on him, scooting closer. "Does it help at all to know that I've always imagined myself getting asked?"

He laughs a little, breathing a sigh of what sounds like relief. "Actually, yes. It helps a lot." He smiles at me, his eyes crinkling at the edges again. "How do you think we'll know when the time is right?"

"I have no idea. I guess it'll be when you can't help but ask me and the only answer I can give you is 'yes.'"

He shakes his head, though he's still smiling. "This is…an odd conversation to have."

"How so?"

"Talking about getting engaged one day? I thought people just, you know, asked."

"I think they do in TV shows and movies."

"You don't think talking about this takes out all the romance?"

"Well, it's not like I'm telling you what day and time to propose to me, but marriage is kind of a big deal."

"No, definitely."

"It's a legal, binding contract about the rest of our lives."

"Oh, yeah. There's the romance I was talking about."

I reach out and half-heartedly whack his arm. "I think it's important that we make sure we're on the same page with this. Maybe not enough people talk about this stuff before it happens. Isn't it better to find out that we want the same things before questions are asked that could possibly ruin everything?"

"You might have a point."

"So…I don't think it's less romantic to talk about it. Honestly, I think there's too much emphasis on proposals being romantic."

He stares at me in disbelief, his eyes wide. "You don't…you don't want a romantic proposal?"

I grab his hands, squeezing them reassuringly. "Josh, if you ask me to marry you at some point, it's going to be romantic. That's all there is to it. It doesn't have to be some huge gesture with…I don't know, a string quartet and a rented out restaurant and a million flowers or balloons, or done in skywriting, or on the Jumbo-tron at a football game." The corners of his mouth turn down. "I'm not saying it _can't_ be one of those things. It can be however you want to do it. It just doesn't _have_ to be like that. The proposal part is the huge gesture in my book. Anything else is extra."

"Are you sure?"

"Honey, I'm going to remember that you asked me to spend my life with you. That's the important part. Anything else you want to do is up to you."

"I love you," he whispers, leaning in and pressing his lips to mine.

"I love you, too," I answer softly a few moments later. "And I think we've talked about this enough for now, don't you?"

He nods slowly, looking at me oddly. Not in a bad way—it's just a little different than usual. "Yeah. I think the movie's about to start, and the food should be here soon." He stands with a groan, then holds his hand out to me, helping me stand as well. Before I can go far, he pulls me into his arms, burying his face in my neck.

"We're good, right?" I ask quietly.

"Absolutely."

I hold onto him a little tighter, and I realize he's not wrong—this _is_ a weird conversation to have. It feels practical and orderly, like we're discussing a business arrangement. It's important, though. Without discussions like this, I'd probably have no idea that Josh was even interested in marriage, and while it's not something that's on our radar, if we hadn't talked about this in bits and pieces over the last year, I'd probably be freaking out over where I stand with him, or be inexplicably hostile because I'd be thinking he was just interested in having a little fun and I'm in it for the long haul. And I do want to be with him forever—there's no doubt about that. I want all the things I've been accidentally fantasizing about; the house outside of the city with a yard, the boring jobs where we get to see each other more than an a few hours a day, and even the baby that popped into my head earlier. Maybe even more than one. I don't think my biological clock is ticking too loudly yet, but I definitely have moments where I can't get over the idea of Josh being a father, even though those thoughts have been vague and ephemeral, never with any sort of mental image of him actually with our child. That one won't go away for a while, I can guarantee it.

What a night of revelations.

"I changed my mind," I whisper, and I feel him tense up.

"Oh, God. About what?"

"I definitely want to get married at some point."

He leans back, looking at me curiously. "I thought we'd already established that."

"I just wanted to make sure that you knew. I don't want us to just live together forever—I'm gonna want that legal, binding contract."

He laughs silently, his body shaking a little. "I can handle that."

"I want all of it. _All_ of it."

Josh pauses, tilting his head. " _All_ of it," he repeats slowly, taking in my meaning.

"The whole package."

He blanches just a little, but he nods as he understands. "One step at a time, though, right?"

"Yeah. We do what feels right for us when it's the right time, and that's the only timetable we set. Agreed?"

"Agreed." He takes a deep breath, his fingers fiddling with the hem of my sweater. "This is weird now, though, right? Things feel weird."

I laugh and put my forehead on his chest. "Yes. We've moved to the awkward part of this whole thing. Can we just…gloss over it and go back to drinking wine and talking about having dirty sex after dinner?"

"Dirty sex? How dirty are we talking about?"

Josh is alarmingly easy to distract. It almost feels like cheating with how easy it is to win arguments. Most of the time, all I have to do is bend over to "pick something up" or unbutton my blouse a little too far. If I really want to bring out the big guns, I play with a pen or a straw or anything else that's vaguely phallic and his jaw goes slack and he's willing to do pretty much anything I ask. So just throwing the word "dirty" in front of sex is more than sufficient to change the topic of this strange conversation we've been having.

"Well, let's put it this way—there won't be any question as to who is on Santa's naughty list."

He groans, pulling me closer, and I giggle, finally pulling myself away. "Dinner first, if it ever gets here. And the movie, too. Then we'll see where the night goes."

"Just tell me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Is there going to be a theme? Like, something red with white fluff on the edges? Or maybe a naughty elf?"

"You are a sick, sick man, Joshua Lyman."

"C'mon, Donna," he whines, hopping up and down a little.

"It's called Victoria's _Secret_ for a reason. You'll find out."

"You're killing me," he says, flopping down onto the couch, and I'm happy to see that recapturing our earlier playful mood isn't as difficult as I worried it would be.

"You'll be all right," I reassure him, patting his knee as I sit next to him. I reach for the remote and turn the volume back on, only a few minutes of the movie having passed. I settle into his side and his arm goes around me, pulling me closer. We may need to have this conversation again at some point, or we may have to go into more detail about a few bits and pieces at times—then again, this one time might be enough. I suppose time will tell. Despite how odd and disjointed it all was, I feel better that we've said some of these things, and that we know better where each of us stand. We're not going to be calling up our mothers in the next day or so to let them know that we're getting married, but we'll be making that call at some point.

My heart rate picks up just then as I realize that I'm getting married. I have no idea when, but it's happening. It's the oddest sensation. I know that I'm getting married to Josh Lyman at some point in the not too distant future. While I'm glad it's not tomorrow, I can't deny that I'm excited that it's going to happen. It's scary and strange and utterly amazing to know that right now I'm sitting next to the man I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. My future husband. The father of my children.

Okay, that's enough of that. I feel my brain short-circuiting a little and I turn my attention back to the TV, forcing myself to relax. All I need to focus on is enjoying the next couple of days with this guy that I love with my whole heart and soul.

For now, that's enough.

* * *

First of all, Mariah Carey's All I Want For Christmas Is You is the best Christmas song of all time. COME. AT. ME.

Anyway, this rambles. I probably should have ended it around 4000 words instead of almost 9000, but random stuff that I thought they should discuss just kept popping into my brain hole. This is what I crapped out. Hopefully, though, it'll bring everyone a little bit of Christmas/holiday/just a regular day cheer. (You know, I used to be impressed when I wrote a story that was 2000 words…what have I become?)

Also, as an idea I'm tossing around in the old bean, would anyone be into reading a version of So Far From Here from Josh's perspective, or is that going too far?

This also contains an insane amount of my head-canon, or at least references to it. Anything that's for sure not part of the show is a product of my fertile imagination, but are things that I'm not sure would translate as well on paper.

And finally, happy holidays to all who celebrate, and I wish the same happy feelings to those who don't. May this year be better than the last.


End file.
